Finding New Hope
by I.J.Girl
Summary: In the aftermath of Argon's destruction, Beck is weighed with guilt from his inability to save his City. Going out on his own, he learns to master the Outlands and becomes an valuable asset to the Revolution in Tron City...But in the process is caught in debt to Zuse. To pay him back, Zuse pairs him with the last person he thought he'd see again: a vengeful Paige after the Renegade
1. Previously, on

**Hi! ^^ I have been really obsessed with Tron:Uprising lately, so I thought I'd write a fanfic for it. And I decided to tie it in with Legacy, so it's sort of an AU as well? I don't know, check it out, and if you like it, please leave a review! ^^**

Orange and blue lights flashed and danced across her helmet as the comforting purr of a lightcycle vibrated through her body, speeding through streets glowing with a buzz of activity and programs scrambling to get home before curfew painting the streets with laughter and promises to meet again.

The program on the cycle sped on, trying to let the rest of the Grid turn into a blur around her as a pang of bitterness tugged at her soul at the sight of the happy, oblivious programs running around the city. They had a purpose, they had a home.

Things she hadn't had for many weary cycles now.

The light cycle slid to a stop, and she straightened up, derezzing the vehicle back into a baton from under her without missing a beat. Slipping the baton into a pocket in her suit, she glanced up at the abandoned building on the outskirts of the city she temporarily resided in. With a soft sigh, she shoved open the broken door, which lit up with blue, sensitive lines in protest to being manhandled so. Slipping in through the crack she managed to pry open, she pushed it shut again, turning to face her ramshackle dwelling with a slump in her shoulders, and a soul crushing weariness in her brown eyes.

Stumbling forward, the walls around her lit up with wanted posters, flipping around with images of the most recent criminals, some which were ruthless and cruel and others who were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow managed to get away. Among them was her own picture, circuits glowing red and orange in complete loyalty to her cause, to the Army, to Clu...To perfection and peace.

Now her primary circuits were white, the color of a civilian, with secondary green circuits. She had chosen green both to honor her past and to try and blend in to her surroundings, to melt into the crowds and avoid capture, instead of keeping the orange she would have preferred. Playing around with the design of her hair only brought frustration, so she had simply allowed her hair to grow evenly, brushing against the back of her shoulders and her bangs covering half her face.

Collapsing onto a platform that served as bed for her, she stared up at the ceiling, which she had covered with a map of the entire Grid, little white dots blinking; the vast majority situated around the now Occupation-free Argon City. Clu's arrival threw the army into a craze, providing just the right distraction for the citizens of Argon to regroup and attack, effectively overthrowing all of Tesler's efforts to Occupy the city.

She frowned, her full lips thinning in thought; the turning point had without a doubt been Clu's arrival. Clu had made no attempt to retake the city, instead repurposing as many programs as he could and choosing to place strategic bombs across the City, blowing up energy supplies while effectively splitting Argon off of the mainland and creating an unstable canyon between Argon and any where else.

An uncontrollable shudder ran through her body at the thought of that canyon. Argon's citizens had fled the City in every aircraft possible; since they had rebelled against Clu, he offered no relief or compassion, watching from his throne with almost exhausted eyes as the programs ran out of energy and in desperation, tried to make it across the rift in watercraft, only to be swept away by powerful, tumultuous currents, ships torn open by jagged rocks, and survivors pulled deep underwater to drown. For days, the water glowed with the remains of thousands of programs taking suicide trips across and even Tesler quietly questioned the siege. He had little to no regard for the lives of individual programs, but a massacre of these proportions was a bit much even for him...

Those were his last words.

_Watching Tesler derezz and collapse at her feet, she took a shocked step back, eyes wide as she stared at Clu, mere inches away from her. The program took a deep breath, disk whirring, before raising his gaze to look at her. She fought back shock and dismay at the empty, exhausted blue eyes boring into hers, as if trying to leech out her energy, her life force to be able to keep going, before giving up and moving away. Docking his disk onto his back, he collapsed back into his chair, his loyal second in command, Jarvis, hovering and quietly reporting._

_Had she not been a soldier and programed to face the deaths of those close to her, she would have collapsed then and there, and cried over the pile of cubes that had once been the program that saved and sheltered her and given her a second chance at life. Instead, she solemnly bent down, gently brushing the cubes away until she found his disk. Holding it, she closed her eyes in sorrow before turning away, briskly making her way out of the room. Mechanically making her way to the hangar of the ship, she found herself in front of the armory._

_The guard had regarded her for a moment, "State your business, Commander."_

_The disk in her hand involuntary lit up, and with a grunt, she slashed it across his helmet without second thought, kicking him back and slamming her elbow against the back of his head, effectively knocking him out. Standing over the guard, she stopped, trying to make herself think again, trying to make things make sense again; the pain in her arm from the guard's light staff was dull and she almost couldn't feel it over the thrumming of the energy in her head._

_Reaching into the armory, she stuffed all the light jets into the bag slung over her shoulder. (Had she gotten that while wandering the halls of the ship in numb shock?)_

Enemy of the State.

_The words hit her, suddenly, her programming protesting the senseless actions she was performing, but the guard's groan kept her from delving too deeply into the reasons for her actions. Taking off, she found her way to the open hatch, rushing forward and jumping into the air, opening a light jet baton and soaring into Argon airspace. Looking down at the darkened, silenced city, she felt a deep weight settle over her shoulders. A few cycles ago the streets had been a hubbub of energy and light and programs running around, getting back to their jobs, going to meet friends or simply holding hands and treasuring each other._

_A single, enraged tear streamed down her face, and she searched the city for specks of light, finding one and turning towards it. Circling Argon Square, she was greeted by programs rolling barrels around, trying to cut them open, trying to get at the military grade energy inside. Letting her helmet slide over her face, she soared into the middle of the square, which caused the startled programs to pull their disks. _

_She derezzed her light jet, landing with her feet moving into the small crowd._

"_I've come to help."_

She felt a pang of guilt at the fact that after relentlessly fighting for Clu and perfection, she had turned around and acted like the Renegade.

Her hand gripped the edge of the bed, whitening as a burning anger welled up within her, accompanied by a deep sorrow that preyed on her every waking hour.

It was all _his_ fault.

"Come on, it's not much further!"

The shout was drowned out by the screaming winds that howled and battered against the cliffs in the Outlands, the tempestuous storm's sole purpose seeming to be to destroy the programs below. Perhaps the sole consolation they were to have was that Grid-bugs were unable to come out of their nooks and crannies in the rocks and the ground.

Beck wound the light rope tightly around his hand, tugging the programs attached to the other end along to ensure they weren't separated. His black helmet protected his face from the relentless battering of the sandpaper like wind that ground away at his exposed fingers. The cold of the Outland winds chilled him despite the thick, heat absorbing jacket he wore. The pants he wore(swiped off of a knocked out guard whom he had left strung upside down in his under suit because life had gotten too dreary and he needed a reason to laugh) were loose on him and the wind seemed to like to try and pull them off despite the belt he wore.

The ground below his and the other two programs feet slowly sloped upwards, and he gratefully flattened himself against the black stone that formed the cliff wall, lessening the wind's pull on his body, as the minimal light lines he wore on the outside of his coat and the default ones on the pants flickered in the blinding snow, his mid-calf combat boots digging into the slick surface below for traction.

As his hand stretched out ahead, running along the grooves of the weathered rock, he sighed in relief when it finally gave way to emptiness, and tugged on the rope a little harder, turning into a small cave he could barely walk in without scraping the top of his head against the black rock. Although the howling wind had nearly deafened him, the two programs' sighs of relief were nearly audible through his helmet. He smiled, although even if he retracted his helmet they wouldn't have been able to see it. The cave was pitch black, with the exception of the minimal circuitry that the programs sported, and, as they collapsed against the cave walls and slid down to sit, the lights were even dimmer from their positions. Beck retracted his helmet, taking in the smell of the wind free cave. Faintly, he could pick up traces of dead pixels (which smelled of chemicals and salt) and energy.

He had come across several caves of this type during the two cycles (16.000 hours, a rough approximation to two User years inside the Grid. Outside was another story.) spent scrounging around after Argon was destroyed. The outlands had become almost a second home to him after the destruction and mass reprogramming of the programs of Argon, being his only safe haven from both Clu's armies and the few surviving programs of Argon; most of which blamed the Renegade or Tron for the death and loss of thousands. Beck swallowed a lump in his throat, shouldering the responsibility without shirking, briefly wondering what Tron would think of what he was doing in his name before shoving the thought to a secret compartment in his mind to be forgotten.

Placing his hands against the wall, he blindly followed it to the back of the cave, pulling out his re-coder and plugging it in. The cave wall lit up, revealing itself to be a thick, complex door. Beck's face lit with a brief smile as he reminded himself for the umpteenth time to thank Zed for his design if he ever came across his old friend if he ever came across him and Mara in one of the cities freed by the Resistance.

The door was designed to only open from the inside, making the only other possible way to open it by re-coder; the locking mechanism was much like the sort found in hand cuffs. Beck easily found the unique combination to this door, and pulling off the re-coder, the door hissed and lifted up slowly with a groan.

Within, a pool of glowing energy swirled in the spacious cave, outfitted with two triple decker bunk beds and a tiny bathroom in the back. Stacked against the walls were PADDs left behind by other occupants to help pass the long quiet hours. Lights streamed around the edges of the walls and the edges of the beds, as well as from the principal light fixture in the middle of the room.

Beck turned to the two female programs, who stared wide eyed at the room, luxurious compared to their normal accommodations.

"If you stay here for a couple of centicycles, your faces probably will be removed from the wanted posters in Tron City and the D.O.G.S should be thrown off your trail."

"And what do we do in the mean time?"

Beck ushered them in the room, looking down at the short young woman, whose blue eyes echoed hope and perhaps just a hint of infatuation. He smiled softly, remembering Mara in Argon at a better time.

"You're going to be on the run from now on. I recommend you sleep. A lot. And soundly. You don't know when you'll be able to do that again. But if you can't, then train. Get ready for anything that might come your way."

Not knowing what else to say, he awkwardly patted her shoulder, wondering if this was how Tron had felt with him. Stepping out of the way, he pushed the button on the door, which slid shut, effectively cutting the young rebels out of his life once more.

He hovered at the edge of the cave entrance, hand gripping the wall as he swayed with the sound of the wind, powerful and destructive and yet soothing at times. His shoulders sagged, yielding briefly to the ache running through his soul. Eyes closed, he sighed, tilting his head back for a moment, a thought tangling in Tron's direction before he brushed it away, directing it towards the little cities that were free from Clu's rule, thanks to small, organized pockets of revolution which effectively fought off even the largest of Clu's battalions thanks to self-sufficiency and careful, calculated planning.

The Renegade had occasionally checked in with these small cities, but other than apologies and being told how Argon's destruction had inspired them to finally stir out of their lethargy and free themselves, he wasn't met with much more than disinterest and the occasional one-time mission to lead.

Tron had once told him that he was to become a symbol. A symbol that programs didn't need to sit still for Clu's rule, to watch as friends and loved ones were shipped off to the Games or terrorized just for the sake of perfection. That they could resist, push back...they could rise up and become something new, something better, replace the faulty commands with something better...

Beck sighed, his helmet rezzing up over his face as he stepped out into the cold again.

He was a symbol alright.

A symbol of what happened when programs played at being someone they could never aspire to. A symbol of ineptitude to stop Clu, to stop the destruction he had set into action.

He was certain all the programs knew that he truly wasn't Tron. He had heard the whispers of the champion at Tron City, a security program that excelled above all other programs, perhaps even greater than the mighty fallen Tron himself. Perhaps it _was _Tron. Rumors spread like viral code, and he had even heard far-fetched ones of _Rinzler _actually being a re purposed Kevin Flynn – A user demoted to the rank of a service program.

He knew _that_ wasn't true.

The cold slowly seeped through his coding once more, and he made his way down the cliff, abandoning his thoughts to the storm as he shifted his focus to survival. The blizzard churned and shrieked against his helmet as he squinted to make out the ground he was placing his feet on, blinking when he thought he saw specks of light in the distance. Freezing in his tracks, he activated his long distance visor, grunting in resignation when it didn't make any difference in his vision and deactivating it. Nope, no lights.

Trudging on, he made his way through the Outlands, sighing in relief when the wind abated enough that he could use the snow runner. Riding on until the storm was left behind, he glanced behind him.

Nope.

There were definitely lights back there.

Mentally cursing to himself, he derezzed the snow runner, turning to face the blinking lights moving around the rocks and the plains. Squinting, he bit down a gasp at the sight of a pack of D.O.G.S following him. The canine shaped programs were twice as basic as the most Basic of programs, only knowing enough to follow a trail given to them by their master, Clu and his Army.

Tron had mentioned Kevin Flynn's attempts at recreating the User-world creatures for recreational purposes, but eventually abandoning the idea as hopeless due not being able to find a balance between the programs sentience and their emotion. Unlike in the User-world, sentience seemed to be directly attached to emotions.

Clu had no need for emotion or sentience. After realizing that an entire community of programs lived out in the Outlands despite the often deadly conditions, he had assembled teams of the helmeted creatures to search and recover.

With no mouths, they couldn't bite their victims, but they would chase and terrify programs, herding them straight towards hidden groups of soldiers ready to round up the wayward programs and ship them off for re purposing.

Beck had encountered the creatures several times, once having been chased until he could barely move and pounced upon, pinned down by howling, barking creatures until he was able to pull his disk and derezz a few, offering enough distraction for him to clamber up onto a boulder that despite the creature's best attempts(And long legs) they couldn't climb. After nearly an entire millicycle of waiting, they finally backed off, and he was able to use his re-coder to fix a destroyed light jet enough for him to fly the malfuctioning thing to the nearest energy pool.

The D.O.G.S followed, howling and snarling, ready to pounce upon him again, only to stop, sniff the energy pool and excitedly run around it, yipping and dancing around the water's edge until one of them was brave enough to dive in.

Another one of Kevin Flynn's ideas had been to use them to find large energy pools underground to drill into. It had been a long shot to bring them here, but it had worked, and now he could sneak away as they drank in the glowing blue energy.

But that was far, deep in the Outlands. Here, close to the City, all the energy pools had been drained and redirected to the city. Beck rezzed his snow runner up, setting it on an automatic route to the middle of what he had nicknamed 'The Crater', an area surrounded by flat, black plains before suddenly dipping down into a bowl shape. He didn't know how it had been formed; Tron had never mentioned any such extreme geography during his time with him.

Then again geography had never really been a topic of discussion.

The snow runner buzzed off into the distance, kicking up snow and tearing at the rock floor for traction until it was little more than a blur in the distance, trailed by little orange dots.

Beck snorted in frustration. The D.O.G.S _had _been tracking the snow runner. Tron would have had his head for slipping up like that.

"Guess in this one case, it's a good thing you're not here..."

He glanced at the bright orange and white city still far away, and sighed, rubbing the back of his head and resigning himself to the long walk back. Perhaps he could get the guys off his back for just one rest cycle and sleep.

He snorted, his long legs moving across the rough terrain with an ease that had been absent two years ago. He highly doubted that Banes and Teller would let up on his assignments, since he was the only one with such an intuitive knowledge of the Outlands in the tiny group of rebels that was slowly, slowly forming in Tron City. Also since he was absolutely nobody to the government, he was the one they often sent on rescue missions to get their compatriots back from the Games and smuggle them out to the unoccupied cities until the heat died down, and brought back new recruits from said unoccupied cities.

Thanks to his almost religious avoidance of highways between the cities of the Grid, he was able to get people in and out of Cities without being seen, using tunnels and hopping buildings, all to avoid being seen by anyone.

Even so, he constantly checked the wanted list, feeling a surge of relief when his name was nowhere to be seen, and even the wanted call for the Renegade slipped down to the bottom of the list. A part of him felt excessively mournful of that fact, as if even that part of himself was beginning to disappear with Argon's dark, abandoned streets as the destabilized code slowly vanished into the sea.

A dull pain wrapped itself around his chest like the cousin of the grid-worm, the grid-leech, crushing his lungs and making his breathing chopped and erratic. Pausing mid-step, he shoved the memories, the pain into the back of his mind, where it still made an unrelenting lump in his throat, reminding him of his failure to save them.

Feeling a wave of panic and fear begin to take over him, he bent onto one knee, his fist on the ground and head bowed; he slowly began to lose control, unraveling at the seams (_what would Tron think?_) as guilt and shame and sorrow rushed at his soul, at his body, filling his consciousness like being dragged underwater by an unseen danger.

Rushing through his head and blurring his vision as he choked on air, thoughts crashed and blurred through his mind, images of derezzed programs lining every one of them as they screamed in his head, in his voice, and tried to tell him _that it'snotworthit, justdiepleasejustdie Ifailed__I'm__notworthy Cyruswasright Iwishitwouldalljustend._

A long, prolonged, sharp sound cut at his dulled ears as energy thrummed wildly through his entire body, and some fragmented part of him that was still conscious recognized the sound as his own voice.

Groping wildly at that part of his consciousness, he was able to ground himself into something alive again, an image of Tron consoling him before it flickered and transformed into Clu, shaking him, trying to tell him something, trying to warn him.

In shock, he mentally recoiled from the image, the backlash of the loss of connection sending him reeling back into reality, the pain releasing him so quickly it almost hurt more than before, and he could see again.

Gasping for breath, he struggled back up onto his feet, trembling wildly as he tried to push all the seams together again, cover it up and appear whole again, wiping his face of the tears he had been unconscious of crying.

Beck sighed, shoulders slumping in exhaustion as his brown eyes locked on to the far away city once more. He was definitely going to make them let him sleep. Even if they hated him for a couple of millicycles for it.

**Edit: 5/20/14 Went back and fixed a few minor things...**


	2. Jet

**HEY guys, I finished the second chapter today! 8D I'm so proud! XD XP Thanks for the reviews, guys, I REALLY, REALLY LOVE THEM! ^^ *proceeds to shower reviewers with cookies***

Briannajs-22 **Aw, thanks, sweetie! I tried really hard to get their 'voices' right. I'm not so sure about this chapter because they're mingling with ****_people_**** which is a concept I find hard to grasp. ^^ JK. XD (AND YES, LET'S. THE POOR BOY NEEDS SOME LLooooooovvvveee!) And yup, that's where that came from. It's going to tie in eventually...**

** PrincessKai317 - Thank you, love! ^^ Have some coooookkkkiiieess! Virtual ones, of course. :P I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

* * *

Paige's feet refused to move as smoothly as she'd like. They dragged, the high heels hurting more because of the last fight she had against a gang master. For a moment, she contemplated eliminating them from her wardrobe, but a jolt of panic threw that idea out the door.

She smiled wryly at the thought of the gang master, gagged and cuffed at the doorstep of the military base, with her signature tucked in his cuffs – a green and black glowing flower.

It payed homage to a long erased memory of a _book _from the User-world that had made rounds in Gallium. Programs would handle the treasured thing with more care than they would have ever treated even the Users themselves, and it was held as the most valuable object they owned...Until Clu's armies arrived at the city to purge it of imperfection. In fear, the programs had hidden the book deep within the City, to keep the trinket safe.

The book had been part of an encyclopedia set, the letter B, and the begonia flower had captured her attention with it stark unlikeness to anything in the Grid, and a trickle of curiosity had sparked within her. How was the User-world capable of such beauty and such cruelty? Could Clu truly be telling them the truth about users?

That said, how could Users, living in such a beautiful world with such _natural _beauty, be so distant and unthoughtful?

Paige sighed, glancing up at the End of Line Club, her destination. The tall building stood out from it's neighbors, and she could distantly hear the drumming of music from the club at the top. For a moment, she closed her eyes, a rush of emotions blanketing her at the memories of her own hands sliding across the monome, making it sing and spark joy in her heart, a dream that had fluttered and arisen before being squashed and destroyed by the tragedy that had become her life.

With a deep breath, she followed the influx of programs making their way to the top of the building on the elevator, ignoring a tall program's eyes trailing over her body in lustful appreciation and clenching her hands into fists. Reminding herself that she didn't have a reasonable excuse for punching the guy yet, she relaxed, grateful when the doors finally slid open and the music washed over her for real. The beat drummed through her core, filling her with an almost giddy sensation that she had to choke down with her soldier programming. Making her way inside, she nearly froze at the sight of soldiers lounging on the couches, other programs sitting on their laps and giggling or running their hands over the few visible circuit lines running on their skin.

Bowing her head, she moved on past them, grateful that they were distracted, making her way to the bar. Staring at the lineup of drinks she pursed her lips and turned away, narrowing her eyes and searching the crowd for her target. Slouched backwards, with her elbows on the counter, she watched the crowd, drowning out the music to keep it from distracting her.

"Well, who have we got here!"

Paige curbed the urge to jump, turning her head smoothly to the source of the voice, looking up at the white speaker through her long eyelashes, "Oh, look. Just the program I was looking for."

Castor smiled, rolling his shoulders and tapping his cane on the floor, "Ah, ex-commander Paige. I must say, it is an honor to have such a rebel grace my presence."

The tone of his words seemed to indicate that it was actually an honor for _her _to be in his presence, but Paige simply rose to her feet crossing her arms.

"I've heard a lot about this _'Zuse' _you work with. He has connections in every place."

A flicker of resignation passed through the other man's energy-blue eyes, "AH, I see. You want to get away, is that right? Well, where are you running to? Perhaps we can come to some sort of...hmmm, mutually beneficial agreement, yes? I've heard _so _much about the legendary commander's ability to get the person she's after."

Paige shook her head, "I'm already after someone...but he's taken refuge in the Outlands, as well as several other dangers to society, and I can't...I don't have the necessary knowledge to survive out there for an extended period of time...I need a guide."

Castor grinned, a sparkle of mischief and curiosity in his eyes, "Would this certain someone be the legendary _Renegade of Argon_? Oooh, I've heard the rumors running along the Grid, commander. I doubt they're true though, knowing your history," he pursed his lips, one finger on his jawline as he tilted his head with a look of mock disappointment, his eyes insinuating all she needed to know. Enraged, she docked her double disks in a flash, activating them and slamming them into the counter. 

"What about my history?"

Castor grinned, as if excited by her outburst, waving it off, "Never mind, never mind. You know, I think I know just the program to help you. But first, _darling _I need a favor from you."

"What's that?"

Castor laughed, jerking his hands up to give a small clap, "I just need you to make sure that the Renegade of Argon gets back to Zuse alive...not necessarily in one piece, but definitely alive."

Paige paused, slightly confused by his terms, "What would Zuse want with the Renegade?"

"Oh, quite a few things, my dear, dear, girl, but none of which concern you."

Her anger flared again and she yanked her disks out of the counter, holding them activated at her side, "I think they do. My Renegade, my concern."

Castor chuckled, "My dear, when you say it like that, you make the rumors seem true. You've no need to worry!"

"No. I'm turning the Renegade in to Clu. Not you."

"Good luck staying alive in the Outlands to find him. Oh, well, I can always get someone else to get him for me."

The words flamed her anger, but she wisely curbed it, aswaging the irritation. With a sigh, she turned her disks off, docking them on her back once more and crossing her arms.

"Fine. This guide better be a hell of a good one."

Castor's white face split into a wide smile, "Oh, he is."

Beck quietly snuck into the apartment building, barely able to keep his exhausted feet from dragging on the floor. Climbing the stairs up to the apartment he shared with five other programs, he tiredly opened the door to a hubbub of whispers and quiet murmurs. Four heads turned from a map spread out on the living room wall to him, and he awkwardly waved, jumbled threads of his panic attack gripping at him (at least he knew that they weren't going to drag him under for a while now).

"Jet, get over here, we need you to-"

"No. Sorry guys, I just can't do anything for a while. I need some R&amp;R before I can be out in the field again," he responded, squaring his shoulders and trying to use his height as an advantage...despite the fact that for the most part, the programs in the room equaled or exceeded his height.

Banes, the only short program, blonde female designated with sparkling blue eyes and a wisdom beyond that of the other programs, shook her head, "Beck, sweetie, we need you to try to get in to see Zuse again."

Beck sighed, hanging his head, "I can't do that, I still owe him."

"For what?" Teller stepped in, tall and dark. Beck bit back the memories of Cutler that the man revived within him.

"Remember the mess we had with the gang master last kilocycle? Castor somehow got Zuse to pull strings and save our sorry a-"

"Didn't you pay him back when you fixed the elevator?" the youngest of the group spoke up, a former mechanic as well(but not from Argon).

Beck deadpanned at the kid, who shrunk in his chair. Banes sighed and shook her head, "Jet, this is important. Zuse can unite the factions of revolution all over the Grid and give us a fighting chance at winning this. Don't you want that?"

The pain that flickered in his eyes was all too evident and he fought it back down, not wanting to prolong the effects of his panic attack; he sighed, and straightened the collar of his jacket, noticing in regret the minimal light lines on his clothes. In Argon, the lines had represented a program's personality, becoming a symbol of who they were – not unlike a name. Mara's name conjured up a very precise definition of her fiery, loving nature and Zed's brought memories of bad jokes and easy comradeship with no questions asked. So did the patterns of their light lines.

Losing his completely had been necessary, but it had hurt to let go, again, of something that had defined him for so long.

"Jet-boy?"

"Fine. I'll go. But when I get back, I'm going straight to bed, frag the revolution," and with that he spun around and slammed the door, slightly irked at losing his time to unwind from the harrowing moment in the Outlands a few hours ago.

_Jet-boy._

The nickname was pretty straight forward. It had started when he first had met them. Swooping in as Teller and two others(the girls he had snuck out of the city earlier today, in fact) were overwhelmed by Clu's forces, he had tossed them each a light jet before proceeding to gracefully knock out the remainder of the guards.

Taking off with his own light-jet and motioning for the others to follow, he lead them far away from the recognizers, to the edge of the city.

"_So do you have a name, or are we gonna have to give you one?"_

_Beck raised an eyebrow behind his mask, shrugging impassively, "I suggest you get back home before curfew starts."_

_One of the women chuckled, "Looks like we're gonna have to name him, Teller."_

_The tall, dark skinned man glanced at the jet in his hand and smirked, "Alright, let's name him Jet-Boy."_

_Had Argon not died mere hilocycles ago, he would have laughed as well. Instead, he derezzed his helmet, crossing his arms._

"_My name is Beck."_

_The other woman chuckled, "He's cute. I like Jet better though."_

_Her friend punched her arm, snorting, "Shush you. Though I agree."_

_Teller waved them off, turning to Beck, "What's your stance on this? Why did you save us?"_

_Beck took a deep breath, still freshly wounded from Argon's destruction, and perhaps a little too reckless because of that, "I'm here to take the fight all the way to Clu."_

Automatically marching across the city until he made his way to the End of Line Club, he barely noticed when he crashed into another program, sending the other person stumbling backwards.

"Hey, watch it."

"Sorry."

The elevator ride numbed him, nearly putting him to sleep before finally stopping at the top. Walking in, he peeled off one of his fingerless gloves, shoving his palm into the security program's face to show him the hidden tattoo that marked him as a person that had business with Zuse or Castor. The security program snorted at his sloppiness, waving him in.

Pulling the glove back on, he awkwardly wove his way around the other programs, nearly tripping ("_Your stance is all over the place, Beck, straighten up."_) on someone's feet before he made it to the bar, glancing at the hole in the counter in mild curiosity before making his way to one of the smaller booths in the back, sitting in one rigidly to prevent his drowsiness from taking over.

"AHA!"

The near shout sent his energy into high-gear, making him pull his disk before he knew what had happened. A flicker of surprise passed over the white face in front of him, and he sheepishly docked his disk again.

"Sorry. Rough work cycle."

An almost flirtatious smile graced Castor's lips(Beck had noticed he used this look with everyone, no matter the gender or programming), "Really now?"

"Listen, my friends and I, you know our cause, our reasons why. Can't you get in a few good words for us, at the very least? Pull some strings like you did for us that last time?"

"Oh...The time you still owe me, young program?" Castor grinned. Beck's shoulders slumped, almost imperceptibly; to be called a young program after all he had seen and all he had done...

"Y-yes. But-"

"You look absolutely terrible."

Beck paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he worked his jaw in slight annoyance, "..._Thanks."_

Castor chuckled, waving his cane towards a service program, who scurried over with her platter of energy drinks. The blue eyed, white haired program fluttered her eyes at him, leaving Beck internally flustered for a popped a green drink in his hand, and collected one of his own.

"On the house."

Beck glanced at the drink, noticing it's powerful sweet smell and knew that this was a highly intoxicating drink. Some tired part of him wanted it, but he wisely set it back down, "Will I owe you the drink as well now?"

Castor laughed, throwing his head back and making tiny, fine wrinkles around his eyes, "Oh, no, in a hilocycle or so, your debt should be paid in full, my dear friend."

Beck perked up, "What do you mean?"

"I'll let your partner explain," Castor turned and motioned for Beck to follow him as he sidled up to a program at the bar, sipping away at the same green drink Castor had offered him.

The female was wearing a cropped jacket lined with primary white circuits and secondary green circuits, and high heels. From the angle at which they approached her, he could see that the suit underneath the jacket was sleeveless and swooped low to show just a hint of cleavage. Ignoring that part, he glanced up toward her face, covered by her shoulder length brown hair.

"Commander, may I introduce you to your guide and survival expert?"

The woman turned toward them, her bangs falling over half her face and obscuring most of the side Beck could see from view.

But despite the mask of hair and the change in wardrobe, he recognized her instantly, breath blown away at the realization

Paige.

Paige turned towards Castor's voice, surprised to see a familiar face standing next to him. Immediately, she tensed, fear at seeing something familiar, something dangerous, coiling her muscles, but she relaxed when her mind finally slapped a name and a memory on the face.

Beck.

She stood, surprised to see him _alive_, and well after Argon. Her first urge was to hug the program that had been so kind and understanding to her back when things were just a fraction of a bit simpler than now. But both because of her image as a stoic, independent soldier, and because of the transformation of Beck's expression from one of bored curiosity to near tears to murderous rage, she held back.

"_You,_" a program had no right to sound as heartbroken and...shattered as he did with that one word.

"Me..." she responded, a genuine fear creeping at her spine. Beck was no longer the open, flirtatious and mature program she had known two cycles ago. And she couldn't blame him. She wondered how he had survived Argon, and if that was why he hated her so much now.

In a flash, he pulled his disk and swung it at her with a cry, missing her by the breadth of a hair. At the challenge of battle, her emotions collapsed into the recesses of her mind and she drew her disks, splitting them in half and holding them up in protection.

"_Stop!"_

The whisper carried enough anger that it stilled both opponents. Castor threw his arms in the air, motioning towards the guards stirring in the club.

"Are you trying to get yourselves thrown in the games?!"

"You! You _destroyed _Argon! You killed thousands, maybe even millions of programs!" Beck docked his disk, stalking towards her, his tall, broad frame towering over her as in the distance, Castor shrunk away, watching the two with piqued interest. Paige bit back the pain at the memory of Argon, and crossed her arms in defiance. She would not be intimidated by a mechanic; she was a soldier.

"_I _didn't do that."

"Oh, wait, that's right. Clu, chasing after perfection, did. Whom _you _fight for!" Beck suddenly deflated, shoulders slumping as he stepped away from her, suddenly looking incredibly small for such a tall, broad-shouldered program. Conflicting emotions raced across the young man's face before he turned to Castor, "I'm sorry. No. I can't work with her..."

"Beck," she docked her disks, stepping towards him and flinching at the way he recoiled from her, "There's more to the story than you know."

His eyes were cold when they met hers again, almost the exact same shade of brown, "I doubt it, Commander."

He turned away, as Castor watched on with amusement; Paige breezed past the host, following Beck as he wove his way out of the club.

"Beck, wait."

Barely managing to make it to the elevator in time, she crossed her arms and stared at the mechanic, as he slumped against the wall. Long moments of uninterrupted silence extended on as Paige pointedly stared at him and he pointedly ignored her.

He sighed, crossing his arms, "I'm sorry for attacking you like that."

"...It's understandable..."

"What are you doing here, Paige? Shouldn't you be a General now, in charge of your own miniature army?" he seemed dejected now, instead of murderously furious. Paige tried to reconcile this stranger in front of her with the program she had met in Argon.

"I rebelled."

His spiked head jerked up, making eye contact, "Somehow that's hard for me to believe."

Paige sighed, pulling off her outer disk and tracing a finger around the edge, "I couldn't...I couldn't just stand by and watch them die, it...Even Tesler thought it was excessive..."

"Is that his?"

Paige faltered for a moment, before nodding, "I figured it would be a way to honor him...keep him in combat, so to speak."

Beck snorted, and she glared at him. He held up his hands, "Sorry. I just didn't know he meant that much to you."

The woman hummed slightly, her circuits flickering with her fluctuating emotions, "I owed him my life..."

"So...supposedly, during the time Argon's citizens were derezzing themselves in desperation, you rebelled. Then what?"

"I saved as many as I could..." Paige docked the disk again, her expression hardening, "Became an enemy of the state..."

"So now you're helping the Revolution?"

"NO. It was the uprising in Argon that lead to it's destruction-"

"It was Clu's _violence_ and _hatred_ that destroyed Argon."

Paige frowned, "If Argon hadn't stood up the way it did, Clu would have had no reason to destroy it."

Beck smouldered in his corner, shaking his head, "Fine, then. Believe what you want. Why do you need me now?"

Paige bowed her head, sighing as she crossed her arms, realizing that he wouldn't help her with her task. It was better, she reassured herself, she wouldn't have to worry about him changing his mind and derezzing her in her sleep.

"Because I've been tracking the Renegade. He needs to pay for what he did to Argon, for not being responsible enough to-"

"Shoulder the burden of an entire city relying on you to keep them safe, and only you..." Beck finished, sounding broken again, before sighing, "Don't you think maybe he's already paying? The loss of an entire city is..."

"He's still fighting back, Beck. I don't know why, but he keeps appearing and pulling off insane missions-"

Beck hid a wry smile at the thought of the 'insane' missions. Perhaps that's why they didn't like to have him lead more often...He had been particularly reckless during the first few kilocycles after Argon. Although he'd like to think he had become more responsible since then.

"-and endangering these programs by making them think it's worth getting derezzed to take down Clu. I just wish you could see, I'm only trying to maintain a balance here. He's dangerous, Beck."

The elevator dinged, and opened to allow them to depart. Beck stood up, turning towards Paige, speaking softly, "Maybe you're right...But I can't help you. I'm sorry."

The woman sighed, nodding, "I understand."

And she did. Seeing her, representative of CLU, of the program that had destroyed Argon and burned scars into every remaining survivor(including herself) would only serve to drive a wedge into the scars. She wouldn't do that to the program. She owed him that much.

"Take care, Commander."

"You too, Beck."

* * *

**So, yeah, maybe the end seems a bit anti-climatic, and maybe Beck is a little bit out of character in attacking Paige, but he's suffering from Post-Traumatic-Stress-Syndrome, which I think would only be natural after feeling responsible for Argon and being able to do close to nothing as the programs massacred themselves by trying to escape through the canyon. PTSD often causes unexplained violent feelings against others, and in Beck's case, he reacted to it. :/ As for Paige, even though she broke up with him, she still cares for him and doesn't wish to cause him any worse emotional harm by staying around him.**

**Next Chapter, hopefully, will be a little more exciting. BARTIK ARRIVES. And we see how he gets that scar on his face that we see in Legacy. ^^ Ta Ta for Now!**

**Edit: 5/20/14 Once more, just a few minor things, and I took out something I didn't like...**


	3. Veritas

**Hey, everyone, so, I finally arrived with that update I promised ages ago. XD Well, it's been busy and I gave up on the chapter after a while, thinking that the beginning was irreparably fudged up, and then coming back a few weeks later to think, 'Hey, I had something there. Let me tweak around with it and see what I get...'**

**Um, I know that this story isn't like, very good, but bear with me. I'm trying. This is the second most complex thing I have ever written and it's kind of harder than I thought it would be. A challenge, I guess. I've never been good at challenges. :P XD Let's hope I do better this time. Oh, and I edited the first two chapters a little bit. And I drew the cover art. I wanna redo it properly, but I haven't had the time...**

**OH, and on a completely separate note, I finally got to watch the Original Tron! Like days before they took Tron Uprising off Netflix instant stream. WHY DID THEY DO THAT I LIVE ON THAT SHOW.**

That said, I'll leave you be. On with the story.

* * *

"So, did you and your boyfriend sort things out?"

Paige decided she didn't like Castor. His constant state of animation, twirling his cane, leaning from one foot to the other, even as he spoke to one, was simply too much energy and movement for her. Especially since it preformed no visible function, only serving to put her on edge. The only time she was used to being around programs that moved and swayed as much as he did was when she was locking disks with them.

"No, we didn't."

Castor harrumphed, uplit by the white counter he was leaning on, "Never known military people to be the kind to simply, _give up."_

Paige glared flatly at the glass in her hands, reflecting the lights of her suit, reminding herself that she needed this program alive for him to be of any help to her.

"I didn't. We simply cannot work together, especially not searching for the Renegade."

Castor studied her, lips pursed, and internally she shrunk away from his piercing gaze, remaining unflinching outwardly.

"Why?"

"I believe, based on the few conversations I've had with him, that he supported the Renegade's...actions...Perhaps you can find someone else to help me," turning slightly away from the white program to signal that she didn't want any further conversation, she sighed deeply through her nose.

"Hmm," Castor pursed his lips and nodded slowly, "I'm guessing, and I'm just 'going out on a limb' as the users say, that the Outlander is originally from Argon, then?"

Paige bristled, and he took a step away from her, "Ah, I see. And you two knew each other. Did you know each other well? Or did you '_know' _know each other, hmm? Were there problems? Was he too...intense? Or did you not listen to his advice? You two didn't get along so well?"

The brown haired program swallowed the last of her drink, slamming the shimmering glass down on the white counter, slowly enunciating her words through her teeth, "No. As a matter of fact, we made quite the team when we worked together."

And instantly regretted the words, hoping he wouldn't-

"Then you can make it work again, I'm sure," the white program wrapped a light arm around her shoulders, his touch feathery and unassuming, hiding an undercurrent of entrapment as she tensed.

"_Castor._"

The program released her, slightly startled at the ferocity with which she had spoken, before shaking it off once again.

"Oh, my dear, dear commander. This Outlander's skills are not equaled anywhere in this city, or, I'm willing to bet, anywhere else on the Grid. If you are illegally tracking the Renegade of Argon in the Outlands, amongst the Grid-bugs and Grid-worms-"

The military program was unable to suppress a shiver at the gruesome first-hand memory of how Grid-worms were used.

"-and D.O.G.S, freak blizzards and rough, unpredictable terrain...You're going to want him. You know that. You would not have come here, seeking Zuse and his 'connections' if it weren't that you knew that you would not survive more than a week out there on your own."

Paige stood up, shaking her head, "No. Coming here, facing _that_ again...listening to you, this whole thing was a mistake. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Spinning on her heel and confidently striding out of the club(for the second time) she left behind Castor and his overwhelming personality. Her hand automatically reached for her light-cycle baton, but she decided against it with a sigh, taking to the streets as soon as the elevator reached ground level. She paused, taking a moment to observe the city.

Tron City.

The epitome of Clu's rule, the sparkling jewel of perfection, the perfect example of the peace that would cover the whole Grid once Clu had total control. The former medic sighed, but not in relief or satisfaction. A bit of doubt had grown within her, more and more, as she tried to make sense of the actions of the one program that was supposed to be perfect.

The actions that destroyed Argon and millions of innocent programs.

Speaking strictly from logic, the cutting off of Argon made sense. It set the city up as an example to prevent anyone else from attempting to follow the Occupation-free city's lead, it demonstrated that Clu was willing to go to any lengths to protect the programs of the Grid-...

The programs he had watched die.

The official story was that an uncontrollable virus had broken loose in Argon, thanks to the Renegade's actions, and that he had refused Clu's help in containing and eliminating it, leaving severing the city from the mainland as the only way to keep it from spreading outside, to the rest of the Grid. It made her wonder just how many of the tragedies across the Grid had been caused by the army itself, how many of the tragedies had been blamed on someone else.

Goosebumps rose on her skin as she glanced over her shoulder, as if afraid that someone would hear her thoughts, and continued walking, her steps quick as she avoided other programs, rezzing her light-cycle and heading back to her dilapidated hideout, more than ready to settle into a re-energizing sleep cycle.

…...

_Simulation complete. Would you like to go again?_

"Yes."

_Do you wish to alter the settings?_

"Make it harder. Take it up to eleven."

There was a brief pause as the Grid calculated the change.

_...Apologies. This simulation does not have the capacity to change the settings to 'eleven'. Setting to the next most challenging levels. Ready. Set. Go._

He smiled humorlessly.

Rezzing up in front of him, glowing brilliant orange in the dark, wall less room, a mixed battalion of Sentries, Guards and lower rank security monitors rose out of the floor, circuits underlighting the helmets with a sinister glow. Beck rose off the floor, docking his disk and inhaling deeply to regain his breath. Closing his eyes briefly, he searched for strength through the few (very few) lines of code that Tron had installed within him to prepare him for a complete copy of Tron's security programming, including every subroutine and upgrade that both Kevin Flynn and Alan-1 had ever installed in the senior program.

Needless to say, the process had been more or less deemed unnecessary until Beck had been further trained after Tron had been healed.

Regret threatened to flood him, but as he opened his eyes to a complex city street rezzing up around him, the training given to him by Tron smoothed out the wrinkles in his mind, gently eliminating the negative emotions that constantly threatened to overwhelm him in daily life.

Taking in his surroundings, he frowned. Despite the fact that the little Simulation Room built in the floor below the tiny Rebellion's head quarters was only about a fifth of the size of Tron's Simulation Room (if that) it had rendered a busy city street teeming with innocent programs, some pausing to stare at the battalion on the street, others turning heel and outright running away in fear.

A wisp of anger floated through his mind, mingled with sadness. This was one of the things he hated about Clu's occupation; programs who once had nothing to worry about were terrified to walk on the street for fear of being derezzed; places which were once safe for even the newest of programs to wander were filled with soldiers vibrating danger and death.

Brushing it aside once more, his helmet rezzing over his face as the enemies(sentry, guard, it didn't matter) drew their disks and rezzed their light staffs. Reminding himself not to enjoy the fight too much (an ugly memory of Pavel's morbidly excited grin floated by) he ran head first towards the battalion.

A flurry of orange disks flocked towards him and taking a sharp turn, he jumped and ran on the wall of a slick, black and blue building and he faltered as he recognized the sign on the building.

A 000111000111100011111 club.

The disks flew by, mere inches below his ankles, before he jumped off the wall, diving into the middle of the battalion feet first, crushing two of their heads under his feet, knocking them out as he tried to purge the emotions stirred up by the sight of the club.

Jumping up again, he slammed his feet twice into the chest of another guard, sending him flying into two of his friends.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he undocked his disk, smirking, "Alright. Who's next?"

Five light staffs and two disks flew at him. Slamming himself to the ground, he grabbed a light staff and twisted it out of the owner's hands, using it to block the other four, as a disk flew at him and slashed all of the staffs in half. Throwing the staffs off, he leapt onto his feet with graceful flourish and grabbed the nearest sentry's arm, twisting him around and slamming his face into the next assailant's head, a flash of sparking energy flying across his face as the helmets partially derezzed from the force.

Tossing his disk in the air, and turning away from it's graceful arc as he blocked a guard's hulking punch and threw the program over his shoulder onto another guard, leaving him vulnerable to a joint attack, a disk grazing his arm and a punch landing on his face. With a grunt, he grabbed the first program's disk hand, fingers at the most sensitive points on the wrist as he attempted to crush it while kicking out the other's legs. From behind him, an arm wrapped around him, and he slammed the back of his head into the program's face before his disk was able to meet his neck, smirking as his own blue disk whirled back and knocked out the sentry whose wrist he had attempted to crush.

_Eleven combatants down, twenty still in action._

"Civilians?" he shouted back, crashing a guard to the ground face first and slamming his fist repeatedly on the back of the program's head, causing his delicate wrists to cry out in pain, already strained from the six previous simulations. He ignored the blue blur that his fists had become, as his head was sent reeling from a blow from a light staff. Spinning around, he grabbed the light staff and the muscles in his arms rippled as he sent the owner flying across the street.

_No civilian casualties as of yet._

Good, he thought, pinned under two heavy bodies as they struggled to grab his arms. Managing to pry an arm out, he grabbed someone else's disk, grazing his captor's fingers, causing them to jump enough that he was able to kick them off.

Jumping to his feet, he panted, raising his arm with the stolen disk, glancing around and spotting his own disk under the feet of the last ten standing guards. Throwing the stolen disk straight through the middle of the group, he charged through the divide it created, grabbing his disk and running up a guard's chest, kicking his face and wrapping his legs around the program's neck and slamming both fists on his chest, leaving the program choking on air as he stood up, blocking another program's flurry of fists coming towards his face. Twice, he was hit, and he reacted unwisely, pulling his disk and attempting to hit the other program's leg or arm, missing and hitting instead the program's waist. With a cry, the program stumbled back, collapsing to the ground as he slowly derezzed.

Beck gasped, shocked enough that he didn't anticipate the next attack from behind, slamming him on the ground and attempting to lock a pair of light cuffs on his hands.

He grunted, attempting in vain to pull his arms out of the grip of four different programs, crying out as their hands dug into the sensitive blue scars on his wrists (why was it that every simulation he had ever gone through left him more wounded than the fights in real life?) when suddenly, the relentless hands vanished and his hands flew forward, slamming against the ground as his mind didn't catch on in time.

_Simulation terminated. Do you wish to save this simulation to continue later?_

As Beck peeled himself off the floor – mentally, he corrected himself for the sake of his already battered pride: As he _gracefully lifted _himself off the floor – a long pair of slender legs in sleek, elegant, yet combat ready boots made their way towards him across the floor.

"No. We don't want to go again, either. Thank you," the gentle feminine voice making her way to him answered.

_You are welcome. Have a pleasant cycle._

The voice of the Grid almost seemed pleased as it derezzed the remainder of the simulation and Beck sighed, rising to his feet, meeting Banes' almost irritated face. She tapped her temple with a pointed look in his direction, and he realized he still had his dark helmet rezzed over his face; he was still hiding behind it. Retracting it, he straightened his stance, hands at his sides, as she ran her blue eyes over him, her wavy blonde hair woven into a loose braid and wrapped into a tight bun at the base of her neck.

"I thought you said, and I quote, 'When I get back, I'm getting some sleep, frag the revolution'. Instead I find you going at several of our hardest simulations; in fact, going at our hardest outside of the Rinzler simulation. How come?" the senior program crossed her arms, managing to look nearly as commanding and intimidating as Tron despite the fact that the program's head barely came to his chin.

The program's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and she carefully gauged his face, which was trained into a mask of stoic impersonality, which, she noted sadly, he wore all too often around the programs that made up their tiny little pocket of revolution. Every so often, the young man would smile, perhaps even chuckle at the jokes directed straight towards him, offering some relief from his intense, distant presence. Often, he'd sit in the back of the room, brown eyes watching every move with an expression that most other programs would consider to be constantly _judging _everything going on, speaking only briefly when he had to and mostly keeping to himself.

But Banes had been on the Grid since the earliest days. Not as long as Tron, Yori or Clu, but certainly long enough to know how programs worked. She knew that the intense gaze he fixed upon the world was a shield; from what he had spoken to her and what she had heard him speak to the others in their little group of rebels, she knew he held life as the most precious thing to protect, so it puzzled her to have seen him derezz the soldier, even it it was only a simulated guard.

"I needed the exercise," he answered, standing taller, assuming his mask of impersonality once more. Whipping her hand out, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it to turn to her view, surprised at the jerk he gave, as if it had honestly hurt, and peeled back the warm black sleeve from his skin, immediately greeted by layers and layers of delicate blue circuits that were burrowed deep within his arm, making the plasma that made up his body semi translucent.

He didn't attempt to pull his arm back, and she carefully replaced the long sleeve on his arm, holding it gently, worry gracing her face.

"Beck. Where did you get this?"

The boy sighed (she honestly couldn't see the young code as completely matured yet, despite the tragedy she knew he had lived through) and he gently pulled his arm back, cradling his wrist with his other hand, "It doesn't matter. It can't be fixed, and other than hurting like they're derezzing, there's nothing really wrong with them. I've had to learn to live with it."

"Hmm," it seemed even the healthiest of them had irreparable scars. Placing a small, gentle hand on his shoulder, she tilted her head meet his eyes, "What's going on in there, Jet? We sent you to Castor's tired, maybe a little irritated, and you come back...broken. Angry."

Beck pulled away, eyes turning cold...she recognized his glare for what it truly was; an attempt to protect himself.

"I'm fine."

Banes sighed, stepping back, arms crossed behind her back, feet shoulder-width apart, face slipping into an expression of authority, "When you came to us, you were reckless, unguided, angry and hurting beyond anything I have ever seen before. I thought about reaching out to you, but in my experience, most programs prefer to be left alone to mourn, supported at a distance by others that they consider strangers. You came to us alone, and you had no one else to turn to. Perhaps I should have considered that and reached out to you sooner."

Beck's expression flickered, the emotion passing too quickly for Banes to be able to place it.

"But I thought you could handle it. I didn't stop to look. I didn't stop to listen. But I have now, and I can tell, you aren't handling your grief well," she was pushing him now.

The program in front of her scoffed, taking another step away from her, "Don't pretend to know me. You don't know me, and-...I never said anything about grieving."

She stepped forward, attempting to close the distance between them, flickers of suspicion that had grown over the work-cycles she had watched him shining through her eyes, "I'm a soldier, Beck. I know what grief looks like, I know what a program who has lost everything looks like...I know you're from Argon, Beck."

Beck froze, hands dropping to his sides, "What?"

Banes took another step forward, "Do you remember when you first came here, what it was that got you accepted into our little revolution?"

"I rescued a program or two..."

"You went and practically sacrificed yourself on an altar to get me and Jordy out of a Recognizer...and then you went and let every other wayward program on the ship go as well, putting yourself in the line of fire to keep them from being recaptured. Do you know what that tells me?"

"I'm suicidal?" Beck glared, although flickers of doubt and apprehension showed through.

"You feel _guilty._ You put the responsibility for the lives of those programs on your shoulders, seemingly without ulterior motive. You were injured and you didn't mention it. You're trying to pay for something you feel was your fault. Do you remember what Teller said after we ran you through this simulator the first time?"

"No."

"He said that you were so good, you looked as if Tron himself had trained you. You weren't perfect, granted, but we're not Clu," Beck closed his eyes, shaking his head as Banes took another step closer, "And you know what? He's right. I have never seen another program before whose fighting style so closely resembles that of Tron. Except...for the Renegade of Argon. Granted, he was no Tron, but, by Flynn, he came the closest I've ever seen."

The program's body tensed, and she knew then, without a doubt, that she was right.

"And then when you came to us, it was barely couple hilocycles after news of Argon had spread around, and there you were, angry, hurting, guilty and with skills that one would be tempted to believe had been programed into you. You act as though you're responsible for the entire Grid, alone. An ordinary program would blame Clu, would blame the Renegade...But every action you take, you show how you blame yourself, how you punish yourself," she gestured to the simulator, watching his eyes follow her hand, "Only a program who has taken on an immense responsibility and felt that he failed would act like this, and I know of only one other program who fits the description as well as you do."

"The renegade?" he scoffed.

"Tron," she answered, watching as his expression changed once again. Placing both her hands on his wide shoulders, she squeezed them reassuringly, "I'll tell you what I once told him. **It's not your fault**."

"You knew Tron?"

"That's besides the point. Programs from Argon have come through here, as I'm sure you know, and they all tell me the same thing. You prepared everyone for the worst case scenarios, you prepared them for aerial attacks, attacks from the Sea of Simulation, viral attacks, every thing that Clu had done against the ISOs, every method he had ever used to subdue any previous uprisings. The cutting off of Argon from the mainland was the last thing anyone would have ever suspected; it had never been done before, and while it had been theorized by scientists in Clu's army, no one knew that the method was ready for...testing. No one knew, Beck, much less a revolutionary leader that had just managed to overthrow the Occupation, and been cut off from any outside communications-"

"But he was _supposed _to!" Beck shouted, before pulling back, pain flickering in his eyes briefly before replaced by anger, continuing in a subdued voice, "They believed that Tron could keep them safe, that the Renegade would protect them and prepare them and train them..."

Banes nodded, "They believed in you, and you feel as if you failed them. You didn't."

She reached out again, this time slipping her small, strong hand into his and squeezing gently, "I promise you, even though Argon was a tragedy, a massacre, you hold absolutely no fault in what happened there. You may not see it now, but those who survived Argon will be the ones who fight back against Clu the strongest, and they very well may be the ones to overthrow him, not necessarily because of hatred, but to avoid any other program from having to go through the loss they have. I'm not saying that what happened was good; but out of the darkness, there can come light. From tragedy, our strongest are formed."

Beck didn't answer, but the gently tightening grip on her hand was all she needed. With a soft smile, she let go.

"Come on. We have some new recruits I'd like you to meet," turning on her heel, she paused, "You don't have to meet them now, though, if you need some time-...?"

"No, I'm coming," Beck strode past her, a faint smile on his face. Banes grinned, proud to have made some progress. It wasn't much, and the boy had a long way to go, but it was a start. Suddenly, she realized that his long legs had already carried him more than half-way to the door and blinked, hurrying along quickly to catch up.

Beck took a deep breath, hearing the clump of Banes' boots behind him, a strange sort of relief washing over him, mixed with a new apprehension. It reminded him of Able, of how his original mentor had found out about him, of the relief he had felt lifting off his back once there was someone else, he wasn't alone, and of the crushing guilt once Able had died, as the realization dawned on him that it was _his _fault, that if only he had been more careful, if only he hadn't involved Able, if only there was a way to save everyone...

Now that she knew, there was a fear that her life rested on his shoulders now, if anyone knew that she knew...but Argon was no longer in the balance, and the Renegade was no more than a minor pest to the Occupation, not a threat, not worth wasting energy over. Though a twinge of loss coursed through him, there was a begrudging relief as well, before he shook it off and strode into the main room.

"-using these to avoid casualties. It's not hard to purge a memory with the right hands working these."

His eyes quickly found the two newcomers, freezing in place at the sight of a familiar face; the program glanced over, eyes widening in surprise and joy as a grin grew over his face, "Beck!"

"Bartik!" for the first time in forever, Beck felt a genuine smile grow on his face. Who would have thought that one of the most notorious mischief makers at Able's Garage would have been such a welcome sight? Bartik whooped, running out of the clustered programs and sweeping Beck into a crushing hug, much to Beck's surprise.

"Whoa, hey!"

The grinning former mechanic put him down, clapping him hard on the back, "Man, has it been a long time since I've seen anyone from home. How are Zed and Mara?"

"I haven't seen them, last I heard they were at Barium," Beck took a step back, looking over his friend's changed attire. Like his own, the distinctive light lines of Bartik's skin tight suit had been minimized and eliminated as much as possible, a heavy coat wrapped around his body, and boots that were more suited to the Outlands than Tron City strapped to his feet. What little facial hair Bartik had had in Argon was gone, and was replaced by the worn look of a person who had seen something that they might one day be able to put behind them, but would always haunt them and come back in unbidden nightmares and flashbacks. It had changed Bartik, the irresponsible, uncaring program from Argon buried with the city, replaced by the more determined, stronger person now standing in front of Beck now.

"What? I thought for sure you guys would stick together, from the way you were at the Garage."

Banes chose this moment to step forward, waving an arm, "It's nice to see friends reunited, but we have introductions to make and plans to rehash now, and it's better to get to it sooner than later."

Bartik stepped away, grin still on his face as he nodded, "Of course. This is former Lieutenant Kripke of Gallium."

The program gestured to a pale, short and bald program with a scar on the right side of his face, clothed in similar attire as himself, "He has invaluable knowledge of Clu's air force and key scientists that work on developing faster, lighter aircraft."

Turning, he gestured to his other companion, a dark skinned, short program who hadn't smiled in the slightest during the entire time there, "And this is Kring, a former medical program who now specializes in controlling and effectively using Grid-worms to our advantage."

Beck frowned, both the fact that he had just seen Paige and conjured up all the memories associated with her and a few personal experiences with the creature causing an immediate grimace on his face, "Okay...I'll bite. Why?"

"Occasionally in the non-Occupation cities, spies find their way in, and apparently someone convinced us to give them mercy," Bartik winked at Beck, and he immediately recalled having stopped in one Rebellion city and beseeching them to stop their heartless killing of anyone they even _suspected _of being Occupation friendly. The programs had become so zealous they would hunt each other down, drag programs into the street and beat them until they derezzed or tie them up and hoist them up on posts and let Grid-bugs loose on them. He had done that as himself, not the Renegade or Tron and Beck hadn't even known whether or not they had listened until now.

"Weren't there supposed to be four of you?" Banes stepped forward, a frown on her face. Bartik's smile fell and he nodded slowly, holding up an extra disk.

"She was captured."

A choir of groans rang around them and Bartik sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Look, the kid knew the rules, and even so, she used an unregistered bike in Tron City. I hate to say it, but she brought it on herself."

Clu had cracked down hard on restrictions; every vehicle, be it a unicycle, light-bike, light-cycle, light-van, light-truck, and even the recreational light-skates that the less fashionable programs of Tron City loved to use, had to be registered and inspected to ensure that they didn't have any weaponry mods attached. Any unregistered vehicle was immediately pursued and detained, the rider captured and carried to a minor holding place, before it was decided whether the prisoner should be rectified or sent to the games.

Beck sighed, rolling his shoulders and taking note of how long he had been awake and running, telling himself that without a doubt, after this rescue mission he needed to stop and sleep. Frag everything.

"Alright. Let me grab an energy cube and see who wants to join me and we'll be off," he announced, turning sharply on his heel and taking off to his quarters, rummaging under the hard, flat bed for his pouch of energy cubes. An energy-cube was, at it's essence, energy that had been refined to the point that it hardened into a cube, or sphere, depending on the producer, and it was one of the few things that programs had to chew or suck on in order to receive the energy. As a result of the refining process, the energy was extremely concentrated, and Outlanders found them valuable for spending long stretches of time away from normal sources of energy, delivering a power pack for survival. Curiously enough, even the sphere-shaped ones were called cubes.

Beck popped one of the round ones in his mouth, the energy from it taking a moment before surging through his circuits, first dulling his senses then snapping them into sharp, clear definition. The pain in his wrists let up, and there was strength in his arms again, even though his eyelids felt heavy and his mind slightly foggy. He knew it would clear up the moment danger presented itself.

The soft thud of boots in his narrow doorway drew his vision back to his former work companion, and Bartik offered a smile, "So...what's the Tron geek been up to?"

Beck scoffed, remembering, not long after he and Bohdi had rezzed up at roughly the same time, Hopper and Bartik had spent their entire work-cycles trying to rile him and Bohdi up, for having been as fond of the 'dead' legend as they had. They had briefly been the 'Tron geeks' until Bohdi snapped and Hopper got one right on the nose...a fight Beck had had to break up before Able saw and grounded the newly rezzed programs altogether.

"Oh, the usual, stirring up pockets of revolution and keeping my head down simultaneously."

"Listen, I'm sorry we have to head out and conduct a rescue mission so soon," Bartik sighed, "We both know my disk fighting skills have never exactly been, well..."

"It's fine," Beck waved it off, his helmet rezzing over his face as he awkwardly sidestepped around Bartik to make it out of the narrow doorway after realizing that the former mechanic wasn't budging, "It keeps us on our toes. As long as we look like minor amateurs rushing in to save a friend and not a fledgeling rebellion..."

Bartik laughed, "That always bugged me about you, that weird, undercurrent sarcasm."

"Nice to know," Beck quipped wryly.

"Exactly!"

They both stopped, stupid grins on their faces, the straggling tendrils of nostalgia filling the air and snagging the formerly incompatible programs into a fragile companionship forged over a single tragic binding circumstance.

It was enough. They fell into step next to each other as they strode out into the night to reclaim their captured comrade.

* * *

**So, yeah, a bit of a cliffie. XD Sorry, though it's not really all that bad. Sorry that it's mostly a filler chapter, and don't worry, you'll be seeing the Outlands again soon enough. Beck doesn't really like staying in the city too long, not after the freedom of the Outlands. As I'm sure you've seen, he's lost his inspiration, he's drowning in the grief and sorrow and self-punishment and isn't being able to break out of the cycle on his own. It's my belief that he wouldn't have been able to do that with Bohdi's death either had Tron not come into the picture; he would have cycled through grief and hatred and become a bitter, angry program, and pulled off stunts like the one with the statue instead of becoming the more well-rounded, productive program he was during the show. XD Uh...sorry about the rambling, just putting my thoughts out there.**

**Anyway, I'm working on instilling the cycle-breaker, since Tron with his father-esque guiding skills is currently sporting our favorite dual disks and bright orange and out of the picture. :P **

**OH, and I know I promised Bartik's scar this chapter...NEXT ONE...I hope. I'm still dissatisfied with the conversation between Banes and Beck. :/ Can't figure it out. I guess I'm still a bit green around the ears to be giving 'healing' lectures, huh? Also, going to be giving a few more details as to what exactly happened in Argon. It wasn't a clean cut, tick tick BOOM as I made it appear in the first chapter, there was a bit of a process leading up to it, and I'll stop there before I give away any spoilers. XD **

**Anyway, sorry for the long ANs, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope you come back to read more. ^^ Please leave a review in the box below, they make Rinzler smile.**

Rinzler: ...

Okay, not really, but they will get Beck out of his slump and back into action as who he was truly meant to be. XD

TRON LIVES FLYNN LIVES YORI LIVES

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